


Brain Made of Bullet Holes

by SincerelyWaving



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Overdose, TW: Suicide, This is really fucking depressing, oh god this is really sad, pill-induced suicide, vague ass mention of cutting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:45:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyWaving/pseuds/SincerelyWaving
Summary: A little snippet into the brain and thoughts of Connor Murphy on the day of his deathREAD NOTE FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS





	Brain Made of Bullet Holes

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> -Vague mention of cutting  
> -Intrusive thoughts  
> -Suicidal Thoughts  
> -Cursing  
> -Drug Use
> 
> Let me know if I need to add anymore

Connor closed his eyes and exhaled a small breath, grey smoke mixing into the misty morning air. He didn’t quite know what time it was, but the sun had only barely begun to rise over the suburban neighborhood houses. Streaks of red pierced the dark clouds as if the sun were yawning and stretching it’s good morning as it blinked the sleep from its eyes. Connor leaned onto his windowsill, letting out another breath. The cigarette in his hand dimly lit up the dark, the red glowing ember on the end faded and nearly out. Connor opened his eyes and looked out at the dawn, red eyes staring dully at suburbia that seemed to stretch on forever.

Connor put the cigarette back up to his lips and inhaled sharply again before puffing out small rings of smoke. They did not make him laugh. With a small growl, Connor shivered and turned back into his room, tossing the cigarette onto the ground. He didn’t bother to watch it fall to the ground from his second story window.

Connor pulled his jacket around himself a little bit tighter as he glared around his room. It was a mess. Dirty laundry lay everywhere and paint was splattered on the floor. A bottle of pills peeked out from beneath his bed, the orange plastic smirking and taunting him. Connor leaned down to pick up the bottle and stared at it, eyes staring at the prescription. It wasn’t his. He had found it on the ground somewhere, Xanax. The unfamiliar name of “Richards, Thomas” bore holes in his skull. With a growl he threw the bottle at the wall where it bounced off and rolled across the room, pills rattling ominously in the quiet.

Connor sat on his bed and lay his head in his hands. He massaged his face with his long thin fingers and muttered something under his breath. He lifted his head for a moment, long enough to glance at the clock.

5:50

The red numbers blinked at him. He shook his head and sighed. He was going crazy. Oh well, it wouldn’t last long anyways.

Against every instinct screaming at him to sleep, he stood and left his room, stepping into the bathroom across the hall that he claimed for himself. Technically he shared it with his sister, Zoe, but she had never had use of it since there was a bathroom in her room. Totally unfair, but Connor had dwelled on the unfairness of his life for a long time. He was almost on autopilot as he stripped himself and stepped into the shower, turning the water as high as it would go, but the scalding steam barely seemed to touch his skin. His feet moved with haste (or were they slow?) as he walked out of the bathroom and back into his room. He pulled on clothes, barely registering his wardrobe. Most of it was dirty, none of it smelled new, and nothing was colorful. He pulled a new jacket on, the itchy fabric scratching on his scars from last night.

As he sat down and pulled on his combat boots, Connor’s gaze once again caught on to the orange plastic of the pill bottle. Bending over further, he robotically picked it up and stared blankly at it. Someone knocked loudly on his door and he quickly stuffed the bottle into his jacket pocket, hiding it from the world.

“Breakfast is ready, so wake up dickhead!” A shrill voice screamed, accompanying the banging. Then the noises disappeared at once and Connor could hear his sister’s heavy footsteps trailing down the stairs. With a sigh he stood and tousled his hair. He couldn’t remember if he had gotten a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he had showered, but he was sure he looked like absolute shit. He always did. He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed the jacket. It was fake denim or something he wasn’t sure. It had been a deep red color once, but it had long since faded to a rusty grey. He considered buttoning it up, but decided against it. He briefly checked what shirt he had on. An old grey button down. Eh, it worked.

Connor marched to his door with long strides and threw the door open with more force than was necessary. He stormed down the staircase and down onto the first floor. He passed by expensive furniture and tall windows that normally would have let sun in if it wasn’t shit-thirty in the morning. Seriously, why the fuck did high school start so early?

As he entered the kitchen, Connor noticed his family sitting around the table. Cynthia, his mom, busied herself around the kitchen, talking far too cheerily for the early hours of the morning. She paused for a moment to take a swig of her coffee before plastering on her plastic smile again and continuing her tale about the lovely old lady she had met at yoga. Connor figured she would be good in customer service if she ever bothered to get a job.

Larry was seated on the end of the table, the head. He absentmindedly took another sip of coffee before returning to furiously type on his laptop, his eyes glued to the screen. Connor bitterly noted how he was more attached to that laptop than he was too any of his children.

His sister, Zoe dressed in her light blue jeans and purple-y top sat tense on the seat poking her food with her fork and scribbling something in a notebook next to her. Her brow was furrowed, as if she were trying to remember something.

Connor scoffed at how perfect it all looked. He leaned back on the kitchen island and opened the fridge, snatching the milk off the top shelf. Something would get rid of the taste of cigarette on his breath. He nudged the door shut with his foot and took a swig from the container. He chugged the rest down and placed the container on the island behind him.

It was that moment his mother noticed he was there. “Oh, Connor come sit down! Got to have a healthy breakfast before your first day, right?”

Connor reluctantly sat in the chair his mother had pulled out for him, his bag already waiting underneath it for him. His parents no longer trusted him to keep his school bag in his room which, honestly, was just sad. Besides, he was smart enough to know that hiding weed in his messenger bag and bringing it to school probably wasn’t the best idea.

“I’m not going,” he muttered, his voice sore and croaky. He poked at his food for a second before wrinkling his nose up in disgust.

Cynthia sighed. “It’s your senior year Connor, you are not missing the first day.” Her voice was starting to annoy him. He pushed his plate away and lay his head down in his arms.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” he grumbled into his jacket half-heartedly. He already knew she wasn’t gonna let him. Besides, he wasn’t totally against going to school today, for once. Maybe he’d guilt trip someone into feeling bad, then they’d actually cry when they found out tomorrow. Yeah, right, they’ll be much happier tomorrow.

Cynthia sighed before turning to her husband who was still contently ignoring his children. “Larry, aren’t you going to say anything about this?”

Larry looked up and sighed. “What do you want me to say?” He sounded tired, they’d had this conversation a thousand times before. “He doesn’t listen, look at him.” He gestured to his son who hadn’t moved. Connor clenched his fists. “He’s probably high,” Larry muttered, almost as an afterthought, before returning to his computer. Connor pretended like that didn’t hurt like a bullet through his brain.

“He’d definitely high,” Zoe added, not even looking up from whatever she was doing in her notebook.

“Fuck you.” Connor growled, gripping the fabric of his jacket in his chipped fingernails.

“Fuck you,” Zoe replied, exasperated.

“Enough!” Cynthia exclaimed. “He is not high.” There was a pause. Connor could feel the gears turning in her brain. There was no point in defending himself, it’s not like anyone would believe him anyways. “Are you high?” Cynthia said, slightly incredulously, as if she wasn’t expecting it Connor thought bitterly. Cynthia gave an annoyed sigh, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “I don’t want you going to school high, Connor.”

“Perfect,” Connor growled, pulling himself up from the table. He reached under his chair for his bag. His fingers grasped the familiar material and he yanked it out, almost pulling the chair down with it. “So then I won’t go. Thanks mom!” He shouted sarcastically, storming out of the kitchen. He stomped through the house, heading towards the front door.

“Connor finished the milk!” Zoe shouted, her voice loud and grating in Connor’s ears. He threw up his middle finger towards her, even though he knew she couldn’t see it.

He threw the door open and slammed it shut loudly, rattling the house. He shivered even in his jacket. Why the fuck was it so cold, it was August for crying out loud. Orange and red leaves crunched under his feet as he made his way across the driveway. The sun had poked her head up further and was casting red beams of light to join the pink ones lighting up the sky. Connor clambered into the back of his rusty black pickup truck. He didn’t have his keys anymore, not after July. He had only just gotten his door back from that little stunt. Still, it wouldn’t matter for much longer.

Connor had barely been sitting in the cargo bed of the truck for a minute before Zoe came storming from the house, their father on her heels. Larry gave Zoe a small smile and a peck on the head before heading off to his car, a silver sedan. He nodded politely to Connor as if he was some stranger and not his son before getting into the car.  
Connor hopped off his truck and threw open the door to Zoe’s light blue Nissan. He clambered into the dark blue interior, tucking his feet up to his chest and sinking low in the seat.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Zoe said calmly, starting up the car. “I don’t want to get a ticket. It’s too early for that kind of shit.”

Connor didn’t respond, instead dragging the seatbelt over and clicking it into place. There wasn’t any point in getting into an argument over that. They had gotten into enough arguments over stupid shit like that over the past six or seven years.

As Zoe pulled out of the driveway, Connor couldn’t help but dread the day’s events. Oh well, at least there was something to look forward to this afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, I don't want demonize any of the Murphy's but this IS written from Connor's perspective and he has a narrow view of his family  
> I tried to make them as accurate to how they are portrayed in the show, but like I said, this is viewed through Connor's eyes so his view is a little bit skewed


End file.
